


When You're Broken Open

by BatmanWhoLaughss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Blind Kanan Jarrus, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kanan Jarrus Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s02e21-22 Twilight of the Apprentice, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatmanWhoLaughss/pseuds/BatmanWhoLaughss
Summary: “Dance with me,” he mumbled.She didn’t know how to dance. All she ever knew was the fight, so she told him as much. It didn’t faze him. “It’s okay. Just relax‒follow my lead.”In times of stress, or frustration, or agony, they always come back to dancing.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	When You're Broken Open

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a bite sized version of this by @mxltifanbro and Kanera musings in a twitter groupchat. I love these two with my whole heart.

They always come back to dancing. 

It started years ago. They had just come back from a particularly grueling op, and Hera was so keyed up that she could barely think straight. Kanan had taken it in stride, murmuring that everything was okay as he tried to keep his voice steady. But they barely made it out alive, and nothing he said could chase away thoughts of how close they came to something terrible. She was shaking all over, the adrenaline and fear mixing dangerously inside her head. 

The holonet was playing in the background. It was some song that Hera didn’t recognize, and it wasn’t helping to distract her. But then Kanan did the unexpected, standing up and tugging her with him. His hand found her lower back, pulling her body close to his. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Dance with me,” he mumbled.

She didn’t know how to dance. All she ever knew was the fight, so she told him as much. It didn’t faze him. “It’s okay. Just relax‒follow my lead.”

Kanan started to sway, just small movements back and forth. She definitely stepped on his feet a few times too many, but if it bothered him, he didn’t say anything. Her arms somehow found their way around his neck and her forehead came to rest against his. And they danced, until eventually Hera whispered everything that was on her mind into his neck, and Kanan held her a little bit tighter. 

Eventually it became a tradition. Whenever she was angry or stressed, about the Rebellion or the kids or ship repairs, or whenever she just needed to take a break, he would pull her close and guide her head onto his shoulder as he started swaying. And she did the same for him. She danced with him on Empire Day, on days when his past came back to haunt him and on days when Ezra was being stubborn and driving him crazy. On days when they wanted to block out the galaxy, when they wanted to stop being the pilot and the Jedi and just be Kanan and Hera for a little while, they danced. 

Then, Malachor happened, and for the first time, Kanan was unsteady on his feet. 

He was blind. Completely blind, for the rest of his life. She was there with him, when they told him, watching the way his whole body shook with silent sobs. He couldn’t cry, not until his tear ducts healed, but she could feel his pain as if it were her own, all the same. 

So Hera watched, trying to figure out how to help. She guided him around the ship, and the base when he needed some fresh air. She let him lean on her, let him listen to her voice for hours after he admitted he couldn’t feel safe anywhere anymore. She helped him trim his beard as he was growing it out, helped him with meals and sat with him on days when meditation was too frustrating. 

But she worried immensely, because he barely spoke to anyone anymore, and she couldn’t seem to take that look of anguished despair off of his face. 

And then she remembered how much he loved dancing with her, how it calmed the both of them down. So, she waited until today, when the kids are off base on a mission and there’s nothing for them to do. 

Now, she finds him sitting in the common room, posture ramrod straight and eyes closed. He’s tense all over, and he doesn’t move until she gently takes his hand. He can’t see her, but his head turns all the same, looking for where she is. 

Gently, she pulls him to stand, flicking the switch on the small table to a random holonet station. The music is soft, and she steps right into his space as it plays, resting her hand on his shoulder and guiding his onto her lower back. She feels him relax, just a little, as he steps closer, wrapping his arms around her fully and holding on like she's a lifeline. 

For a moment they just stand there holding each other, until Hera starts to move, swaying gently back and forth and taking the lead for him. He resists at first, and she can almost see his walls coming up. “It’s okay. Just relax‒follow my lead.” She whispers it into his ear, the same words he said to her the first time they ever danced. 

It seems to work, because he lets out a breathy sigh, practically melting into her embrace. She was never as good a dancer as him, even though he did his best to teach her. So it’s more of an awkward shuffle than anything else, but she’s content just to hold him, and to let him hold her. 

Until suddenly, Kanan stumbles, tripping over something and letting go as he rocks backwards. She’s about to pull him back to her when she catches sight of the horrified expression on his face, and there’s so much pain written there that it stops her in her tracks. He looks like someone slapped him, like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head and reminded him that everything’s _different_ now, and it can never be like it was. 

Before she can say something, _anything_ to take that look away, his knees give out entirely and he drops to the floor, like he doesn’t care enough to hold himself upright anymore. Hera follows with a whisper of his name, grabbing onto his hand and aching to quiet whatever storm is raging inside his head. “It’s alright,” she whispers. “It’s okay, we all trip, it’s not a big deal‒” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, because suddenly he’s _crying_ , tears trailing down his face as his head droops. His whole body deflates, and it’s like everything he’s been pushing down is bubbling back up to the surface all at once. 

Hera can’t help but let out a small _oh, love_ as she guides his head onto her shoulder, crawling into his lap and wrapping herself around him like a shield. He reaches for her, holding her so tightly she almost can’t breathe, but she doesn’t complain. She knows how much he needs this, needs something to cling to in the dark, and she’s happy to give that to him. 

“Love, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He struggles to speak through the tears, and his words are muffled by her shoulder. “It’s _my fault_.” 

Her insides clench at the raw pain in his voice. She pulls the tie loose from his hair, running her fingers through it to try and calm him down. “What is? I’m not mad at you for stumbling, it’s‒”

“ _All of it._ Ahsoka’s _gone_ , because of _me_. I‒ I fucked everything up and I can’t fix it.” 

He starts sobbing harder, and Hera almost cries along with him. Because all this time she’s been focused on helping him heal, helping him deal with the loss of his sight, she never stopped to think about everything he must be feeling.

She struggles to keep her own voice steady, because she knows it’s what he needs. “Kanan, no‒ this isn’t your fault. It wasn’t _ever_ your fault.”

“I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.” He’s not listening to her, not really. He’s mumbling apologies over and over again into her skin. She should have seen this coming; all the survivor’s guilt from the Purge would of _course_ make him blame himself for Ahsoka’s death. 

But there’s nothing she can do now. There’s nothing she can say that would take his pain away, except to remind him that she’s here, that she loves him, that it’s not his fault and no one blames him. 

“Rex blames me. Ezra hates me. I can’t help the Rebellion now. I‒ It should’ve been _me_ , Hera.”

“ _No._ ” She’s surprised at the anger in her voice. There are tears of her own trailing down her face now, despite her earlier attempts not to cry. “Don’t you _dare_ say that, Kanan. I need you‒ we all do.”

He holds her a little tighter, and she can tell that part of him doesn’t believe her. But before she can say it again, really drill it into his skull, he speaks again, his voice much smaller this time. “I… I really am the last one, now.”

 _Oh,_ but that’s a much deeper wound, one that she can’t begin to understand how to heal. She remembers how happy he was when he discovered that Ahsoka was alive, how much hope it gave him. And now… now he really is the sole survivor, the lone figure left to carry the Jedi’s legacy. There’s no words for that, no absolution she can give him that would ever make that knowledge weigh less. 

So she does the only thing she can do. She holds him, and she cries along with him, right there on the common room floor. She whispers that she loves him, over and over again, that she’s not going anywhere and that it’s going to be okay. 

And eventually, it will be. Eventually, they’ll dance again, moving around the _Ghost_ in their little bubble where the rest of the galaxy can’t touch them. They’ll dance again, when Kanan adjusts to life without vision and he can guide their movements expertly the way he always used to. And eventually, they’ll dance a little more publicly, surrounded by their friends with matching bands on their ring fingers. 

But for now, they hold each other close, and they grieve, and that’s enough.


End file.
